His Eye is on The Sparrow

The service ended that Sunday in 1996 and I trudged out of church into the torpid heat of an Atlanta summer, feeling further from God than ever. It wasn’t the sermon or the hymns or the prayers. It was me. I was at a dead end.

I’d been a television reporter for years, working in cities up and down the East Coast. My goal had been to make it to the network level by the age of 35. My ultimate goal was to be a correspondent for 60 Minutes someday.

But here I was, almost 36, at a local affiliate, a general assignment reporter for Alanta’s WSB-TV. The only other job in sight was for a golf magazine. My finances were in bad shape and the golf gig would pay more than I was making. I was tempted… really tempted.